


tfw u are eg #justwilburthings

by fensandmarshes



Category: Dream SMP (Video Blogging RPF)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood Vines Arc (Dream SMP), Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29508084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fensandmarshes/pseuds/fensandmarshes
Summary: "This is it," Ant says, his eyes alight with a burning fervour, like a man who has walked through a desert for miles and has spotted, at long last, a mirage. "The Egg, our saviour - it hatches."Listen I just think it would be really fucking funny if Wilbur hatched from the Egg.
Comments: 49
Kudos: 204





	tfw u are eg #justwilburthings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [le_bjorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_bjorn/gifts).



> no context only wilbur hatching from the egg. wrote this into my best friend's discord dms as we sat on a call for two hours and have no regrets.

"This is it," Ant says, his eyes alight with a burning fervour, like a man who has walked through a desert for miles and has spotted, at long last, a mirage. "The Egg, our saviour - it hatches."

Bad has cast aside his worry, and his fear - has given them to the Egg, and so fears nothing. "It is time," he agrees, revelling in the way that fearful whispers sweep across his gathered prisoners like wind through treetops. It was not difficult, with the power the Egg has given him, to capture every member of the server. And it is fitting. They must all bear witness to the Egg's final, most awesome moment.

Some of them tried to struggle; they have been subdued.

Vines twist around the dissenters' limbs, like ropes.

The Egg's humming is low and insistent, buzzing at the back of Bad's mind like a throng of bees; he welcomes it in, welcomes the voice of his master, and listens to its words. Ï̸̚ ̴̆̈́a̷̅̈m̸͔ ̴̃͝w̵͛͝a̴͂͂k̶̂̕i̴̅̎n̴̚g̸̏̏, it says, and Bad feels excitement thrill in his stomach.

The Egg is waking, at last.

There is a sound like the rending of the universe, like the fabric of space and time has been knocked upon - heralding a new age, a new dawn, and leaving spiderweb fractures in its wake. The vines choking the clearing quiver in expectant unison. Bad, of the hivemind, feels his own anticipation rise with the rest of them. A cry echoes through the clearing - goes up from the vines and the possessed ones and the Egg, all at once - and then Bad sees it.

His mortal eyes are unworthy. Regardless, he lays them upon it.

There is a crack in the Egg.

It is like the very world, the very server, has been torn in two along the fault line in existence that is this crack; Bad's eyes water as he takes it in, as his mind struggles to fit it into some framework he is capable of processing. He and Ant are both part enough of the hivemind at this point that they do not have to exchange glances. With naught but a mental nudge, they - the two High Acolytes, the Egg's most trusted - advance towards their master.

_W̸h̴a̶ ̴-_

Bad blinks as the Egg sends its message - feels Its bewilderment alongside its own. Confusion is not something he has felt from the Egg before, and yet.

 _Great Egg_ , he and Ant send, in reply.

If anything, the confusion only thickens, careening around the telepathic vines stringing the hivemind together as though searching for a way out. Ẇ̵͎h̵̰a̶̦͝t̵͓͠ ̵̫̒t̶͈̿ḧ̷̳ḛ̸̑ ̴͙͗ạ̸̉c̶͆ͅt̷̘͘u̴̳͛a̴̮͐l̸̄ͅ ̴̫͋f̸̘͠ȗ̴͈ḉ̵k̵̹̑, comes the voice of the Egg.

Ant, filling the space left by Bad's inadequacy - he is letting the Egg down, and shame be upon him for it - sends, smoothly, _Great Master. You might be confused -_

W̶͚͠h̶̻̬͌̚y̷̘̓̈́ ̶͉̐̚ì̶͈̜s̴̡͎̑ ̸̢̮̄ṫ̷̲̣̐h̵͔̊ẻ̸̖͈͝ ̸̩̖̾č̸̥͒ą̵͔̀ẗ̵̮̭̕b̸̡̺̓ọ̷̈́y̷̮͆̇ ̷̟́͝ṯ̴̢à̵̟l̴̝̈́k̵̨͉̚i̶͙͒͐ͅn̴͈̆ǵ̶̟̚?̷̙̬̕

Ant falters. _Master, I am your Acolyte -_

I̵̥͌ ̵̰̬͊͗t̴̨͓̐ȟ̵͎i̶̤͙̎n̴̨̬̈k̵͍̩̈́, comes the voice, the Egg's voice but not the Egg's words, y̴̨̾o̶͈͖̓ṷ̶̮̾̔ ̸̘̚m̷̨̯̃a̴̦͘y̶̺͐̔ ̴̯̀̄h̸̤ͅḁ̴̲͒v̴̤̇̽ĕ̵̘̳͐ ̸̞͛̅g̷̢̖͝o̴͖̒t̵̘̼̔͘ ̶̆͝ͅṱ̵̝̅̆ḥ̷̲͘e̸͓͙̐ ̵̙̓̃ẅ̶͍̑r̸̫̣͊ő̴̭̲n̷͎̤̎g̶̨̼̿ ̷͎̔p̶̤̿̊ė̶̻r̷͔̟̽̒s̵̘̥͆̑o̸̝̐n̸͈.

Anxiety roils in Bad's stomach - this is an emotion he has given to the Egg. He should not be able to feel it. "Ant," he says aloud, quiet, urgent. "I think something is seriously wro -"

The crack in the egg yawns wider. A shockwave slams through the clearing and knocks Bad to the ground.

He is the first to struggle to his feet in its wake - the most devoted, as he has always been. The hivemind is horrifyingly silent, but Bad's devotion to the Egg is not dependent upon telepathy. Slowly, staggering and dizzy - he thinks he may have hit his head - he makes his way towards the Egg, the Egg's shattered corpse, the fault line in the Egg.

The Egg told him that it would emerge, in all its glory, from within its own shell. This was not in the plan.

There is motion from beyond the Crack, and Bad stiffens, eyes fixed to it like a bird of prey sighting a stunned rabbit. Then there is sound - echoing, and strangely squelchy, but the distinct sounds of someone slipping and falling over. And then, a sound both physical and echoing over the Egg's telepathic hivemind of devotees, "Ow, f̵ů̶̺c̴̱̃k̷͓̚i̴̹͚̓ņ̸̳̉̃̈́g̴̛̭̫̎ ̸͖̙͔͔͐̌́h̶̡͑̎e̵̡͖̳̹̎̽̉̍͝ĺ̸̠̼̦͙͚̪ḽ̷͈̪͑."

Bad's heart, like a prey animal, rabbits in his ears. "Master -"

A hand appears, grasping the torn and shattered shell of the Egg for leverage, and then another - and then a man is hauling himself out of the Crack, and Bad -

Pauses.

Stares.

Blinks.

He takes in a ragged coat. A face, smeared with blood and soot and the red flesh of the Egg. Eyes fractal and analytical and haunted, darting around the clearing.

Someone in the crowd of prisoners - Bad has forgotten their names, can only recall, dimly, those of his fellow devotees, and in vivid colour the name of the Egg - someone in the crowd, tall and lanky but a child nonetheless, shouts a name that Bad can vaguely remember. From years ago, in the days of revolution and nationalism and a city turned crater turned city again - it had a name, too.

The child shouts "Wilbur", stunned and panicked with a voice all raw, and the man who has hatched from the egg whips his head around like a shot to its mark.

Bad says, voice wavering, "You aren't the Egg."

The man turns back to him. His eyes, now, are filled with a dull red light - the Egg's - but Bad knows, with a certainty that terrifies him, that this man is controlling what little remains of the Egg rather than the other way around.

"Huh," says the man. Wilbur, Bad thinks, and a thrill of old fear goes through him. Wilbur takes two steps away from the empty shell of the Egg, and his eyes are glittering with red power, and his shoulders have a predatory set to them.

He says, almost contemplatively, "I can work with this."

It is the last thing Bad hears.

**Author's Note:**

> i swear i write actually good fics sometimes.
> 
> if you can't read the zalgo text:  
> \- "I am waking."  
> \- "Wha -"  
> \- "What the actual fuck"  
> \- "Why is the catboy talking?"  
> \- "I think you may have got the wrong person."  
> \- "Ow, fucking hell."


End file.
